


What Is This Feeling?

by lenaballena



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Songfic, enjolras is confronted with sexual attraction AND HE DOES NOT LIKE, i dont even know guys, ish, it's problematic, musical les amis, my title is literally the worst thing but it made me happy, they're all in the same thespian troupe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 12:17:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lenaballena/pseuds/lenaballena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is just trying to get through one, just one, meeting without Grantaire interrupting or undermining him.</p>
<p>He fails spectacularly, and everyone thoroughly enjoys the resulting chaos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Is This Feeling?

**Author's Note:**

> My first Les Amis fic, set in highschool btw. They're a thespian troupe. That's all you need to know.
> 
> Other than I wrote this while half-asleep and all-delirious so DON'T JUDGE ME

Enjolras would very much like to kill Grantaire. Slowly, and with knives.

The floppy-haired actor was constantly late, never had his lines down, had already broken three props _and_ shown up to twelve rehearsals drunk. Well, twelve that he knew of. He never took anything seriously, always walked around like he somehow knew something everyone else didn't, and was just an all-around aggravating human being.

And now he was arguing with Enjolras' plans. _His_ schedule for the upcoming musical and thespian conference. Undermining him, in the middle of a thespian board meeting nonetheless.

"I'm just saying, _Enjy_ , that expecting the cast to have three numbers completely finished in two weeks is ridiculous, and impossible."

Enjolras glared at him and his stupid mess of hair, slouching across a seat in the theatre like he owned the damn thing. He sighed and tried to compose himself. "Tech can have half a set and all the costumes finished in that time, Grantaire. You're just looking for an excuse to be lazy."

Grantaire made a little whiney noise that sounded suspiciously like 'nyah nyah nyah' and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, s'not like your work is hard." He scoffed, and Eponine sighed and kicked off her heels, relaxing and rolling her eyes at Cosette. When the actor and Troupe President got like this, the rest of the troupe could expect to be there for a while.

" _Excuse_ me?"

"Well, no offense to your little motley crew, but it's not like you have to audition or work to be able to use a hammer or pull some clothes off a hanger. No offense Jehan, the costumes are excellent." He said, winking at the poet, who waved him off absentmindedly, already tired of the argument and searching for the right words to describe Courfeyrac's eyes.  

"It's _three fucking songs_ Grantaire! You can't honestly tell me the cast can't learn just three simple songs and a few bits of choreography in two weeks." Enjolras' said, voice rising and color rushing to his cheeks. Why was this moron even _on_ the thespian board?

Grantaire noticed his aggravation, and gave him an appreciative, triumphant smirk. "But you see, I don't _want_ to. So it really doesn't matter what we can do, so much as it matters what we're _going_ to do. And I think two numbers is plenty, Enjy." He stretched in his paint-stained teal shirt, and Enjolras saw red.

"You're the most frustrating, unmotivated, reprehensible human being I have ever come into contact with, do you know that? And you are _nowhere_ near as talented as you think you are. You may be attractive enough to have a legitimate career, but your personality will make it utterly impossible for anyone sane to tolerate your idiotic whining and laziness for more than half a second. You can expect a lifetime of disappointment." Grantaire's eyes lost a little of their anger and his eyebrows shifted in confusion, and Enjolras realized he'd just called the irritatingly self-assured actor attractive. Shit.

Luckily, Courfeyrac noticed the awkward pause and looked up from his set model. "C'mon, R. Three numbers so our fearless leader isn't tempted to pull the stick out of his ass and beat you to death with it?"

 "Great mental image, Courf, thanks." Grantaire smirked at his friend, then looked back to Enjolras with a cocky grin. "It's a shame you don't know how to ask nicely, _Enjy_." Enjolras glared at him for the (probably) twentieth use of that horrid nickname in the past half hour.

 "God, you are a completely narcissistic waste of space and air, you know that? You are infuriatingly arrogant, and _annoying._ No wonder you've been kicked out of four schools, no one could possibly put up with you for more than a couple of months." He spat, and for some reason, Grantaire beamed at him like the creepy Cheshire Cat Feuilly painted for the summer production of Alice and Wonderland.

"You know, Enj," Grantaire said, smiling conspiratorially at Eponine, who was looking bored and texting Cosette (who was sitting right next to her, of course). "The trouble with schools is: they always try to teach the wrong lesson." Enjolras watched Grantaire get up from his seat and stride across the stage to where Enjolras had been addressing the group. "Believe me, I've been kicked out of enough of them to know." Jehan's ponytailed head popped up, and he put down his notebook with a grin.

"What the fuck are you doing, stop looking at me like that." Enjolras said, refusing to back away from Grantaire but genuinely confused.

"They want you to be less callow. Less-" He paused, and Cosette giggled excitedly.

"Shallow?" She chirped innocently, batting her eyelashes at Enjolras as he turned his glare to her for encouraging him. Enjolras seriously regretted giving the VP position to an actor instead of a techie; actors had no loyalty. Not to mention, Cosette was Grantaire's best friend, and official partner in crime. Enjolras still occasionally had nightmares of the time he let the two of them host parent night together.

"Exactly." Grantaire winked at her, and goddamnit, did Enjolras hate when Grantaire winked. "But I say, hey, why invite stress in?" Enjolras would not, could not, back down, and Grantaire was still slowly creeping towards him with that fucking grin on his face, so there was barely a few feet separating the two of them.

Enjolras glanced behind Grantaire and saw Eponine help Cosette out of her seat, both of them grinning excitedly. Cosette brushed off her dress, giggling, and Eponine put her character shoes back on. That should've been the first clue. He glanced to the other side, where Courfeyrac had put away the set model and was bowing before a giggling Jehan, who placed his hand in Courf's palm and allowed himself to be pulled up from his chair. That should've been the second. But Enjolras, like an idiot, thought the other members of troupe 24601 were leaving early, as they often did when Grantaire and Enjolras fought. He was very, _very_ wrong.

"Stop studying strife." Grantaire whispered, and Enjolras snapped his attention back to the actor, who had somehow seriously invaded his personal space while he wasn't looking; Grantaire's lips were dangerously close to his' ear, and Enjolras absolutely did not shiver at the feeling.

The actor smirked at him, then stepped backward, just a bit. "And learn to live- the unexamined- _life_..." And there was clue number three that Enjolras should run for the nearest exit ASAFP ( as soon as _fucking_ possible). Because Grantaire had _sung_ that last word, and behind him Cosette and Eponine were grasping hands, as were Courfeyrac and Jehan, and beside them Musichetta and a reluctant Joly. Then it began.

" _Dancing through life, skimming the surface, gliding where turf is smooth. Life's more painless, for the brainless-"_ Grantaire sang, and began gracefully dancing around the stage and Enjolras. Behind him, Eponine, Cosette, Courfeyrac, Jehan, Musichetta and Joly in their respective partners had begun to move in perfectly synchronized choreography: the slow waltz Musichetta had taught them all. Grantaire glanced at them. "Wrong musical, but I'll take it." Enjolras groaned. It was too late now, there was no getting out of this, not without pulling a fire alarm or stabbing Grantaire in the throat. And both of those options involved way too many witnesses for him to get away with either. He was stuck, not even Combeferre could save him now. If there were two things his troupe loved, they were chances to show off, and impromptu musical numbers. This was both. " _Why think too hard? When it's so soothing- "_

_"Dancing through life, no need to tough it, when you can sluff it off as I do."_ At this part of the song, which Enjolras finally recognized was from Wicked (which was one of the only musicals he tolerated, so maybe he wouldn't disembowel grantaire, only stab him a lot, probably in his stupidly blue eyes) Grantaire sashayed over to Enjolras and swept quickly around him, running a hand around Enjolras as he did. He supposed it was a tribute to Grantaire's skill that Enjolras didn't even register that Grantaire was touching him until the actor had winked at him and danced away. Not that Grantaire had skill. " _Nothing matters but knowing nothing matters, it's just life, so keep dancing through..."_

At this, everyone switched partners. Cosette grabbed Joly and he began leading her around the stage gracefully, as Marius watched sheepishly from his seat. Jehan pulled a struggling Feuilly out of his chair (not even the angry ginger prop chief could resist a Prouvaire pout) and began showing him a simple waltz, which Feuilly caught surprisingly quickly. Eponine practically slithered over to Combeferre, moving her hips in a way that surely was Musichetta's influence, and held out a seductive hand (Enjolras wasn't quite sure how exactly one made an invitation to dance seductive, but Eponine was doing just that) , which Combeferre, blushing, accepted. The traitor. That left Courfeyrac partnerless, so he yanked a protesting Marius out of his chair and led the stumbling, freckled man in the simplest dance he knew. Marius still tripped over his feet every other step. Enjolras was planning every single one of their deaths. Most of them involved snakes.

" _Dancing through life, swaying and sweeping, and always keeping cool..."_ Musichetta grabbed Grantaire's hand and he spun her into his arms with a smirk, dipping her slowly. " _Life is fraughtless, when you're thoughtless, those who don't try-"_ Grantaire smirked, dipping Musichetta lower, almost to the floor, then snapping her back up quickly. " _Never look foolish._ "

Among the dancing couples and Grantaire's (admittedly very good) singing, Enjolras stood, stiff as a board and arms firmly at his sides, waiting for the lunacy to end. He glared at the only people sitting: Bahorel, who _didn't_ dance, and not even Courfeyrac was brave enough to try and make him, Bossuet, who wasn't _allowed_ to dance, not after the display case incident, and the younger representatives that they were required to have at these meetings. Marie, who was a couple years younger than everyone on stage, was looking half-terrified and half-amused, Louis had a shocked expression and his eyes were flicking from Eponine to Cosette to Musichetta as if he couldn't believe the women were real (an expression the three of them were surely used to by now), Marc was watching Grantaire with an expression that looked vaguely like hunger (which was very unsettling and made Enjolras inexplicably annoyed), Azelma, Eponine's sister, was staring, dumbfounded, at the group as a whole, and Gavroche, the youngest at age 10 (he was Eponine's little brother and the only member of the Junior Troupe they allowed in Thespian board meetings) was smirking at Enjolras, and refused to look away even when Enjolras glared at him. The kid was tough, you had to give him that.

" _Dancing through life, mindless and careless... make sure you’re where less trouble is rife!"_ Amidst the giggling couples and Marius' stuttering, Grantaire was still fucking singing. Enjolras decided, there and then, that when he changed the world and made the people equal, he'd still make sure Grantaire didn't even have the right to vote." _Woes are fleeting, blows are glancing, when you're dancing- through life_!" Enjolras turned to glare at him, but froze.

Grantaire and Musichetta were dancing together flawlessly, which was nothing new, but what caught his eye was the way they were dancing. In contrast to the couples around them dancing clumsy waltzes, they were... well, having very graceful clothed sex. Enjolras wasn't sure if the style of dance was tango, salsa, or what (he never payed attention to dance styles when he was forced to learn them by his parents, he sure as hell wasn't going to start for Grantaire), but he was about 98% sure Joly and Bossuet needed to have a serious talk with Grantaire. One that involved lots of punching and threatening phrases. Musichetta and Grantaire were moving perfectly in synch; aggressively, then slowly, matching each other step for step and motion for motion. Grantaire's arms were moving slowly, roaming up Musichetta's sides, and at one point she sunk low in front of his crotch before he snapped her back up and flung her away from him, only to pull her, spinning, back to him, pressing her entire body against his and letting her leg wrap around his torso. Grantaire had stopped singing, breathless, and the other couples had stopped dancing to watch, clapping out a simple rhythm for the two dancers. No. Really. Every one of them was going to die screaming.

But, for some reason, Enjolras just couldn't look away. He knew enough about his sexuality to not be fazed to find that Musichetta's curves and hips didn't do much of anything for him, but he was surprised to discover that Grantaire, apparently, did. His eyes were fixed on the actor, the drunk, and he wondered why he hadn't known how talented Grantaire was before. His hips moved just as much as Musichetta's, and he was smiling as he danced, which only made him more attractive. _Attractive._ That was the second time he had thought of Grantaire as attractive in the span of minutes, and he most definitely did not like it. But there was no denying it. The drunk was wearing a shirt that not only made his eyes look inhumanly blue, but also clung gently to him, more so as he danced, and showed his muscles defined from a lifetime of dance lessons (and supposedly kickboxing, though Enjolras couldn't believe that one). There was no denying it; Grantaire was... hot. Not that Enjolras would ever, even on pain of death, admit to thinking as much. He had only thought of two other people as hot in his entire seventeen years of existence; one being the rugged, college-aged speaker at a rally he'd attended at 14 (his first, it concerned welfare rights, and Combeferre liked to refer to it as the Enlightening), the other being Feuilly (it was _one time_ , the ginger was wearing a muscle tank-top, Enjolras was very drunk, and the incident was forever on Courfeyrac's list of _Things You Do Not Mention to Enjolras Unless You Want Him To Eat Your Soul_ , after Napoleon, the 1%, and corndogs)

The couple separated for a second, and Enjolras knew enough about dancing to know they were mixing styles as they stomped on the stage floor. Grantaire clapped in time with his friends, and stamped a bit, circling Musichetta like a predator assessing its prey. Musichetta, not one to back down from a challenge, ran her hands up her sides and into the neat bun of hair on top of her head. She pulled out the pencil holding her hair in place, and placed it between her teeth. Her long, black hair fell down in waves over her brown skin, and she threw her head down with a grin, before whipping back up. The action made her hair even more wild, and the look in her eyes was just as predatory as Grantaire's. She pushed the pencil into Joly's hand, who immediately gave a little shriek at being handed something that had been in someone else's mouth (even if the mouth belonged to his girlfriend) and threw it across the theatre.

Grantaire slid on his knees to kneel in front of Musichetta, who kicked him away softly. He grabbed her leg and began placing fake kisses up it, as Musichetta threw her head back at his motions. From her leg, his hands roamed over her waist and up her body, to the point where if Grantaire hadn't announced to the entire theatre that he was 'hella gay, just fyi' and brought his boyfriends to rehearsals on numerous occasions (each and every one of them was annoying as fuck and Enjolras had thrown three of them out of the building and made one of them cry), Enjolras would be worried about Joly and Bossuet beating the shit out of his male lead. But when Enjolras glanced at Musichetta's boyfriends, he saw identical expressions of amusement and lust, so he figured Grantaire would live. At least until Enjolras got his hands on him.

At last, the two of them finished their rhythmic sex, ending with Grantaire, once again, dipping Musichetta, who held onto him with a leg wrapped around his torso. The troupe cheered, even Combeferre wolf-whistled gleefully, though Enjolras, prideful as ever, remained still. Musichetta kissed Grantaire playfully on the cheek, then leant into him and whispered something that sounded suspiciously like 'go get 'im, tiger'. Grantaire pulled her back up to stand, and the two of them bowed slightly, before Grantaire, smiling, addressed the circle of friends.

"My word!" He said with a smile. "I got so caught up in this goddess-" He squeezed Musichetta's hand with a smirk, and she gave him an emphasized wink. "That I completely forgot about our musical number. Shall we continue?"

"Fuck yes, we don't leave songs unfinished, not in this troupe." Courfeyrac called. "It's a matter of pride, really."

"Alright then." Grantaire frowned as everyone stood around him with identical smiles. "Where was I? Oh yes." He winked at Enjolras', who absolutely, positively, blushed from anger.

Grantaire practically skipped over to Eponine. "So. What's the most swank-ified place in town?"

"That would be the Ozdust ballroom!" She smiled, and he kissed her on the cheek.

"Sounds perfect!" He cried, then pulled her into the middle of the circle. " _Let's go down to the Ozdust ballroom, we'll meet there later tonight_." He led Eponine, grinning, into a tango, then let her go, and kissed her hand slowly. " _We can dance 'till it's light. Find the prettiest girl-"_ He paused, then made a two-fingered beckoning gesture in the air. The three girls lined up; Cosette with a smile, Eponine with a wink, and Musichetta with a hair flip.

Grantaire paced down the (admittedly small) line, walking in front of, then behind, the girls. He stopped finally, standing directly in front of Enjolras, who had yet to move, and surveyed the three of them. Everyone went silent.

In one motion, Grantaire spun around, grabbed Enjolras' hand, and spun him. " _Give her a whirl!"_ He sang, and their friends laughed, though Eponine grumbled something about Grantaire being a 'biased fucktart'.

" _Right on down to the Ozdust ballroom, come on follow me, you'll be happy to be- there_ ," The girls coupled up with their previous partners quickly, and Musichetta pulled a struggling Bossuet out of his chair. Around him, his friends attempted a tango, which would normally commanded his full attention because: a) it would be hilarious, and b) they would break at least two set pieces, but at the moment, Enjolras couldn't pull his eyes away from Grantaire.

Taking advantage of Enjolras' shock, Grantaire had pulled him in and intertwined their fingers, ready to move. The actor leaned in to Enjolras' ear. "My dearest Apollo. Will you permit me?" He whispered, lips once again stupidly close to Enjolras' ear, and Enjolras felt himself blush. He found himself speechless, which seemed to only happen around Grantaire, though it usually occurred when they were arguing, not when Grantaire had his arm around Enjolras' waist, their bodies were pressed flush together, and Grantaire was slowly grinding into Enjolras' hips. Which had to stop. Right now.

Enjolras' eyes narrowed dangerously, and he walked Grantaire backward, for the first time in his life grateful for childhood dance lessons. Grantaire's eyes widened in shock for a second, but then the smirk re-appeared on his face and he regained control. Their dance was nowhere near as skilled or as sexy as the one Grantaire shared with Musichetta, in fact it was mostly angry, but it worked. They moved together for a minute or so, before Grantaire separated their bodies and switched seamlessly into a waltz. He began to sing again, and this time, Cosette, Eponine, Jehan and Courfeyrac joined in.

" _Dancing through life-"_ He began.

" _Down at the Ozdust!_ " They sang, voices working together perfectly, which was surprising, because he hadn't even known Courf could sing.

" _If only because dust is what we come to!_ " Grantaire sang out, spinning Enjolras suddenly, then pulling him tight into his chest.

" _Nothing matters, but knowing nothing matters, it's just life, so keep dancing through_...." Grantaire paused, arms still around Enjolras, and said. "You know what, fuck it, we're skipping the spoken part. That alright?"

Bahorel groaned from his seat, where he was most likely playing games on his phone. "Yes, you fuckers, just _finish the damn song._ "

Cosette giggled. "That part's boring, anyway."

Enjolras had no idea what they were referring to, but he found he didn't care, because _Grantaire's arms were around him holding him tight against his chest._ He gulped. There wasn't a part of their bodies that wasn't touching, and it felt... good? That's it, Enjolras was obviously sleep deprived and hallucinating, and needed to end this insanity _immediately._ Unfortunately, that would mean pulling himself out of Grantaire's arms, and that would take more effort than Enjolras felt he was capable of. Because Grantaire was stronger than him. Obviously. Luckily, Grantaire began singing again, and their dance continued.

_"Dancing through life, down at the Ozdust, if only because dust is what we come to... and the strange thing, your life could end up changing_ ," Jehan, Courfeyrac, Cosette, Eponine, and Musichetta sang, and Grantaire began to sing with them. " _While you're dancing- through_ ," They held the last note, and Grantaire pulled Enjolras back in and dipped him quickly. Their friends cheered and laughed around them, and Enjolras, who had closed his eyes when he realized that Grantaire, of all people, was in charge of making sure he didn't fall painfully to the floor, opened them slowly. When he did, he realized exactly how close Grantaire's face was to his. There were maybe four inches separating their lips- faces. Not lips, faces. Grantaire grinned at him triumphantly, and for a terrifying half-second, Enjolras thought Grantaire might kiss him. For an even scarier millisecond, Enjolras thought he might let him.

Instead, he pulled Enjolras back up, and bowed exaggeratedly as their friends applauded them. Enjolras tried to look annoyed, but then Courfeyrac pulled him into a bruising hug, and it was hard to be annoyed when your best friend was laughing in your ear. Enjolras smirked slightly, and the troupe cheered a little louder. 

"Alright, Apollo." Grantaire said, a little breathless. "Tell you what. We'll prepare three numbers for the conference. Two of them songs from the musical we're doing performed by the leading assholes in the cast, and one that's just us." He gestured around the circle to their friends. "Chetta can choreograph, and we won't have to deal with anyone else, just the Amis."

Enjolras thought about it, looking around the circle, to where Eponine and Combeferre were still holding hands, though they seemed not to realize. To Marius and Cosette, who had gone off to the the side so Cosette could attempt to teach Marius some dance steps. To Jehan, who was happily writing a sonnet on Courfeyrac (the latter had taken off his shirt so the poet could write it on his shoulder blades). To Musichetta, who was placing soft kisses on both Bossuet and Joly's cheeks. To Bahorel, who had finally stood up and was prodding Feuilly in the side and muttering 'I will actually never forgive you for putting me in a position to witness spontaneous musical numbers. _Never'_. And finally Grantaire, who was standing directly in front of him, smiling like he knew something Enjolras didn't. Enjolras had never in his life wanted to kiss the smile off a person's face more. Which, yeah, fuck if he knew where that came from. He took a deep breath; he'd figure out that confusing feeling later.

"Fine." He said, and the way Grantaire beamed when he agreed in no way made his heart do a funny thing in his chest. "But I'm still murdering each and every one of you in your sleep."

**Author's Note:**

> comments would be lovely
> 
> oh, and for reference:
> 
> Enjolras is Troupe President  
> Cosette is Vice President  
> Combeferre is the Troupe's does-everything-and-anything-and-we're-pretty-sure-he-lives-in-the-theatre, as well as official scribe for board meetings and Stage Manager  
> Courfeyrac is the Chief of Set Design  
> Jehan is the Costumes Chief  
> Eponine is the Female Lead  
> Grantaire is the Male Lead  
> Joly is Lighting Chief  
> Musichetta (obviously) is their Choreographer  
> Bahorel is the Shop Chief (that's where they build shit, by the way)  
> Feuilly is Prop Chief  
> Marius is in charge of the Sound panel  
> Bossuet is the Troupe's can't-do-much-of-anything-without-breaking-something-or-someone-so-we-pass-him-around-like-the-clumsy-hot-potato-he-is
> 
>  
> 
> i might turn this thespian thing into a series /runs and hides


End file.
